Jules Verne (22 page)

But all that disappeared with the vapors of the night. Dreams are not
fixed photographs; they fade in the sun, and end by effacing themselves.

In taking my stroll through the train as a good townsman takes his
stroll through the town, I am joined by Major Noltitz. After shaking
hands, he showed me a Mongol in the second-class car, and said to me,
"That is not one of those we picked up at Douchak when we picked up
Faruskiar and Ghangir."

"That is so," said I; "I never saw that face in the train before."

Popof, to whom I applied for information, told me that the Mongol had
got in at Tchertchen. "When he arrived," he said, "the manager spoke to
him for a minute, from which I concluded that he also was one of the
staff of the Grand Transasiatic."

I had not noticed Faruskiar during my walk. Had he alighted at one of
the small stations between Tchertchen and Tcharkalyk, where we ought to
have been about one o'clock in the afternoon?

No, he and Ghangir were on the gangway in front of our car. They seemed
to be in animated conversation, and only stopped to take a good look
toward the northeastern horizon. Had the Mongol brought some news which
had made them throw off their usual reserve and gravity? And I
abandoned myself to my imagination, foreseeing adventures, attacks of
bandits, and so on, according to my dream.

I was recalled to reality by the Reverend Nathaniel Morse, who said to
me, "It is fixed for to-day, at nine o'clock; do not forget."

That meant the marriage of Fulk Ephrinell and Horatia Bluett. Really, I
was not thinking of it. It is time for me to go and dress for the
occasion. All I can do will be to change my shirt. It is enough that
one of the husband's witnesses should be presentable; the other,
Caterna, will be sure to be magnificent!

In fact, the actor had gone into the luggage van—how I trembled for
Kinko!—and there, with Popof's assistance, had got out of one of his
boxes a somewhat free-and-easy costume, but one certain of success at a
wedding: A primrose coat with metal buttons, and a buttonhole, a sham
diamond pin in the cravat, poppy-colored breeches, copper buckles,
flowered waistcoat, clouded stockings, thread gloves, black pumps, and
white beaver hat. What a number of bridegrooms and uncles of
bridegrooms our friend had been in this traditional attire! He looked
superb, with his beaming face, his close-shaven chin, and blue cheeks,
and his laughing eyes and rosy lips.

Madame Caterna was quite as glorious in her array. She had easily
discovered a bridesmaid's costume in her wardrobe, bodice with
intercrossing stripes, short petticoat in green woolen, mauve
stockings, straw hat with artificial flowers, a suspicion of black on
the eyelids and of rouge on the cheeks. There you have the provincial
stage beauty, and if she and her husband like to play a village piece
after the breakfast, I can promise them bravos enough.

It was at nine o'clock that this marriage was to take place, announced
by the bell of the tender, which was to sound full clang as if it were
a chapel bell. With a little imagination, we could believe we were in a
village. But whither did this bell invite the witnesses and guests?
Into the dining car, which had been conveniently arranged for the
ceremony, as I had taken good care.

It was no longer a dining car; it was a hall car, if the expression is
admissible. The big table had been taken away, and replaced by a small
table which served as a desk. A few flowers bought at Tchertchen had
been arranged in the corners of the car, which was large enough to hold
nearly all who wished to be present—and those who could not get inside
could look on from the gangways.

That all the passengers might know what was going on, we had put up a
notice at the doors of the first and second-class cars, couched in the
following terms:

"Mr. Fulk Ephrinell, of the firm of Messrs. Strong, Bulbul & Co., of
New York City, has the honor to invite you to his wedding with Miss
Horatia Bluett, of the firm of Messrs. Holmes-Holme, London, which will
take place in the dining car on this the 22d of May, at nine o'clock
precisely. The Reverend Nathaniel Morse, of Boston, U.S.A., will
officiate.

"Miss Horatia Bluett, of the firm of Messrs. Holmes-Holme, of London,
has the honor to invite you to her wedding with Mr. Fulk Ephrinell, of
the firm of Messrs. Strong, Bulbul & Co., of New York City, etc., etc."

If I do not make half a dozen pars out of all this I am no newspaper
man!

Meanwhile I learn from Popof the precise spot where the ceremony will
take place.

Popof points it out on the map. It is a hundred and fifty kilometres
from Tcharkalyk station, in the middle of the desert, amid the plains
which are traversed by a little stream which flows into the Lob Nor.
For twenty leagues there is no station, and the ceremony is not likely
to be interrupted by any stoppage.

It need hardly be said that at half-past eight I and Caterna were ready
for the call.

Major Noltitz and Pan-Chao had got themselves up in all due form for
the solemnity. The major looked as serious as a surgeon who was going
to cut off a leg. The Chinaman looked as gay as a Parisian at a village
bridal.

Doctor Tio-King and Cornaro, one carrying the other, were to be at this
little festivity. The noble Venetian was a bachelor, if I am not
mistaken, but I do not think he gives any opinion on marriage, at least
I have no recollection of its being in the chapter headed "Safe and
easy means of promptly remedying the different accidents that threaten
life."

"And," added Pan-Chao, who has just quoted this Cornarian phrase, "I
suppose marriage ought to be included among those accidents!"

A quarter to nine. No one has yet seen the happy couple. Miss Bluett is
in one of the toilet cabinets in the first van, where she is probably
preparing herself. Fulk Ephrinell is perhaps struggling with his cravat
and giving a last polish to his portable jewelry. I am not anxious. We
shall see them as soon as the bell rings.

I have but one regret, and that is that Faruskiar and Ghangir should be
too busy to join us. Why do they continue to look out over the immense
desert? Before their eyes there stretches not the cultivated steppe of
the Lob Nor region, but the Gobi, which is barren, desolate and gloomy,
according to the reports of Grjimailo, Blanc and Martin. It may be
asked why these people are keeping such an obstinate lookout.

"If my presentiments do not deceive me," said Major Noltitz, "there is
some reason for it."

What does he mean? But the bell of the tender, the tender bell, begins
its joyous appeal. Nine o'clock; it is time to go into the dining car.

Caterna comes near me, and I hear him singing:

"It is the turret bell,
Which sud-denly is sounding."

While Madame Caterna replies to the trio of the
Dame Blanche
by the
refrain of the
Dragons de Villars
:

"And it sounds, sounds, sounds,
It sounds and resounds—"

The passengers move in a procession, the four witnesses first, then the
guests from the end of the village—I mean of the train; Chinese,
Turkomans, Tartars, men and women, all curious to assist at the
ceremony. The four Mongols remain on the last gangway near the treasure
which the Chinese soldiers do not leave for an instant.

We reach the dining car.

The clergyman is seated at the little table, on which is the
certificate of marriage he has prepared according to the customary
form. He looks as though he was accustomed to this sort of thing, which
is as much commercial as matrimonial.

The bride and bridegroom have not appeared.

"Ah!" said I to the actor, "perhaps they have changed their minds."

"If they have," said Caterna, laughing, "the reverend gentleman can
marry me and my wife over again. We are in wedding garments, and it is
a pity to have had all this fuss for nothing, isn't it, Caroline?"

"Yes, Adolphe—"

But this pleasing second edition of the wedding of the Caternas did not
come off. Here is Mr. Fulk Ephrinell, dressed this morning just as he
was dressed yesterday—and—detail to note—with a pencil behind the
lobe of his left ear, for he has just been making out an account for
his New York house.

Here is Miss Horatia Bluett, as thin, as dry, as plain as ever, her
dust cloak over her traveling gown, and in place of jewelry a noisy
bunch of keys, which hangs from her belt.

The company politely rise as the bride and bridegroom enter. They "mark
time," as Caterna says. Then they advance toward the clergyman, who is
standing with his hand resting on a Bible, open probably at the place
where Isaac, the son of Abraham, espouses Rebecca, the daughter of
Rachel.

We might fancy we were in a chapel if we only had a harmonium.

And the music is here! If it is not a harmonium, it is the next thing
to it. An accordion makes itself heard in Caterna's hands. As an
ancient mariner, he knows how to manipulate this instrument of torture,
and here he is swinging out the andante from
Norma
with the most
accordionesque expression.

It seems to give great pleasure to the natives of Central Asia. Never
have their ears been charmed by the antiquated melody that the
pneumatic apparatus was rendering so expressively.

But everything must end in this world, even the andante from
Norma
.
and the Reverend Nathaniel Morse began to favor the young couple with
the speech which had clone duty many times before under similar
circumstances. "The two souls that blend together—Flesh of my
flesh—Increase and multiply—"

In my opinion he had much better have got to work like a notary:
"Before us, there has been drawn up a deed of arrangement regarding
Messrs. Ephrinell, Bluett & Co.—"

My thought remained unfinished. There are shouts from the engine. The
brakes are suddenly applied with a scream and a grind. Successive
shocks accompany the stoppage of the train. Then, with a violent bump,
the cars pull up in a cloud of sand.

What an interruption to the nuptial ceremony!

Everything is upset in the dining car, men, furniture, bride,
bridegroom and witnesses. Not one kept his equilibrium. It is an
indescribable pell-mell, with cries of terror and prolonged groans. But
I hasten to point out that there was nothing serious, for the stoppage
was not all at once.

"Quick!" said the major. "Out of the train!"

In a moment the passengers, more or less bruised and alarmed, were out
on the track. Nothing but complaints and questions uttered in three or
four different languages, amid general bewilderment.

Faruskiar, Ghangir and the four Mongols were the first to jump off the
cars. They are out on the line, kandijar in one hand, revolver in the
other. No doubt an attack has been organized to pillage the train.

The rails have been taken up for about a hundred yards, and the engine,
after bumping over the sleepers, has come to a standstill in a sandhill.

"What! The railroad not finished—and they sold me a through ticket
from Tiflis to Pekin? And I came by this Transasiatic to save nine days
in my trip round the world!"

In these phrases, in German, hurled at Popof, I recognized the voice of
the irascible baron. But this time he should have addressed his
reproaches not to the engineers of the company, but to others.

We spoke to Popof, while Major Noltitz continued to watch Faruskiar and
the Mongols.

"The baron is mistaken," said Popof, "the railway is completed, and if
a hundred yards of rails have been lifted here, it has been with some
criminal intention."

"To stop the train!" I exclaim.

"And steal the treasure they are sending to Pekin!" says Caterna.

"There is no doubt about that," says Popof. "Be ready to repulse an
attack."

"Is it Ki-Tsang and his gang that we have to do with?" I asked.

Ki-Tsang! The name spread among the passengers and caused inexpressible
terror.

The major said to me in a low voice: "Why Ki-Tsang? Why not my lord
Faruskiar?"

"He—the manager of the Transasiatic?"

"If it is true that the company had to take several of these robber
chiefs into its confidence to assure the safety of the trains—"

"I will never believe that, major."

"As you please, Monsieur Bombarnac. But assuredly Faruskiar knew that
this pretended mortuary van contained millions."

"Come, major, this is no time for joking."

No, it was the time for defending, and defending one's self
courageously.

The Chinese officer has placed his men around the treasure van. They
are twenty in number, and the rest of the passengers, not counting the
women, amount to thirty. Popof distributes the weapons which are
carried in case of attack. Major Noltitz, Caterna, Pan-Chao, Ephrinell,
driver and stoker, passengers, Asiatic and European, all resolve to
fight for the common safety.

On the right of the line, about a hundred yards away, stretches a deep,
gloomy thicket, a sort of jungle, in which doubtless are hidden the
robbers, awaiting the signal to pounce upon us.

Suddenly there is a burst of shouting, the thicket has given passage to
the gang in ambush—some sixty Mongols, nomads of the Gobi. If these
rascals beat us, the train will be pillaged, the treasure of the Son of
Heaven will be stolen, and, what concerns us more intimately, the
passengers will be massacred without mercy.

And Faruskiar, whom Major Noltitz so unjustly suspected? I look at him.
His face is no longer the same; his fine features have become pale, his
height has increased, there is lightning in his eyes.

Well! If I was mistaken about the mandarin Yen Lou, at least I had not
mistaken the general manager of the Transasiatic or the famous bandit
of Yunnan.

However, as soon as the Mongols appeared, Popof hurried Madame Caterna,
Miss Horatia Bluett, and the other women into the cars. We took every
means for putting them in safety.